by Jane Lark
He felt frustrated, and if he were truthful with himself, a little riled. He waited for a gap in the flow of traffic then turned the team, taking them off Oxford Street, away from the bustle and hum, on to Bond Street.
Once he’d negotiated the turn, he glanced at her again. She was still silent and apparently intending to ignore him for the whole journey.
“Is something wrong, Jane?”
He did not remember this quiet, stubborn woman at all.
She did not answer.
The silence was filled by the sound of the horses as their iron-shod hooves struck the cobble, their whinnies and heavy breath, the creak of leather and jangle of the metallic tack, the rattling approach of other carriages passing, and the occasional shout from street vendors.
“Jane?” he pressed again at length, drawing the carriage to a halt, waiting to turn into a side street which would lead them back to Grosvenor Square.
He sensed her look towards him as he negotiated the turn.
“Nothing is wrong. I didn’t sleep well, that is all.”
Why would he swear she had picked that moment to respond simply because she knew he would be distracted? There was something more. He was certain of it. More to the point, he did not think it was anything to do with him, otherwise, why would she have suddenly requested his escort?
Glancing across at her, he saw she was facing forward again.
“You know, Jane, if there is anything wrong, you only need tell me and I would help.”
She looked at him then, meeting his gaze and appearing uncomfortable, and yet desperate, as though she wished to believe him but did not.
Reluctantly, he broke the silent communication, turning his eyes back to the street.
The next moment he had chance to look across, she was facing forward again, her thoughts, he would swear, somewhere beyond him and the street.
He made no further effort to break the silence, concentrating on the short drive to Lady Rimes’s address.
As the phaeton traced about the iron railings enclosing Grosvenor Square’s central garden, Jane finally piped up, “I suppose I should at least offer you some refreshment for your kindness, my Lord.”
Robert glanced at her before pulling up. “Not if it is purely out of obligation.”
Once the groom had taken the reins, Robert climbed down and came about the phaeton to help her descend. When her fingers gripped his, they were no longer shaking. It was only more evidence that he had not disconcerted her, but something else had.
It was a strange feeling that transferred from the senses in his hand to his gut as he helped her down – compassion, longing, need. Or just pure hunger? He had no idea. It was nothing he’d felt before.
Once she was on the ground, her fingers gently tugged for freedom.
He did not let go, waiting for her to lift her face so he could see beneath her bonnet.
She did not.
Quite deliberately, he would guess.
After a moment, he let her go.
Without a word, she hurried up the steps, deserting him, but then she stopped as the door opened, and looked back as though she’d just remembered he was there. “You are welcome to come in if you like?”
A mocking smile broke his lips. There was absolutely no predicting the woman. Well, he was willing to take whatever crumbs she threw him today. “For a moment only. If you are certain?”
She gave him a sharp nod and went inside.
Robert told his groom to wait with the horses then jogged up the steps and lifted his hat from his head.
“Your Grace. Sir.” The butler bowed to them both then held out a hand for Robert’s hat as Jane untied the ribbons of her bonnet.
She handed it to the butler then undid the buttons of her spencer.
In a gallant mood, Robert took the garment from her shoulders, his fingers accidentally brushing the skin above the neckline of her gown.
She shivered as she’d done the other night.
It sent a sharp knife-thrust of desire into his groin.
Ignoring it, he handed the garment to the butler.
All this black was trapping the vibrant Jane he’d known beneath it, sucking the colour out of her. She was a mere shadow of the real Jane. If he could peel it all away, as he’d done the other night, would she be free of what bothered her?
“Selford, Lord Barrington and I would like tea,” she ordered of the butler. “We’ll take it in the drawing room. Is Lady Rimes at home?”
“Her ladyship is, Your Grace. Lady Rimes retired to her chamber an hour ago.”
“Thank you, Selford. Do not disturb her on our account then,” Jane acknowledged before moving on. “My Lord.” The call was for Robert to follow.
Watching her in a place she felt at home was different again, but Robert felt like a bloody lapdog trailing after her. Still, he could enjoy the view, the slimness of her bare arms beneath the short, puffed sleeves of her day dress and the snug fit of her black muslin bodice. The way the material hugged the curve of her breasts and waist. Her black hair was simply dressed in a neat coiffeur, pinned back from her face, apart from a few wispy curls which had escaped to brush her brow.
She led him upstairs and along the hall to a pink room, heavily perfumed by a vase of roses in full bloom, then pointed to a chair. “Do sit down, my Lord. Is tea suitable? Or would you prefer something stronger? I could ring if you’d prefer brandy.”
He took a step towards her. “Nothing, Jane, except to know what I’ve done to upset you. Why were you hiding from me today? You have no right to hold a grudge, you know. I admit, I may have pressed you a little fast the other night, but … ” He left the sentence there, prompting for her explanation.
Her expression slipped from diplomatic Duchess to the new wary, vulnerable Jane, and her fingers clasped together before her waist. She glanced towards the window when she spoke. “You have not upset me.” When her gaze returned, the Duchess was back. It hit him with the strength of steel. “It is just that … ” She stopped, swallowing back her words, then began again and threw her words at him instead. “For heaven’s sake, Robert, it is hardly five weeks since Sutton died.”
His eyes scanned her face wondering what the hell was going on, and his hand touched her arm.
She moved back.
“But you are in London, regardless, Jane, and attending entertainments.” She could hardly claim to be really mourning Sutton, no matter her blacks. She was flouting convention. How did she expect him to take that explanation? Her behaviour hardly said she had been devoted to the man.
She turned away and walked across the room. “I am visiting a friend, nothing more. I did not come here for the season or the entertainments.”
He caught a glimpse of her figure through the loose folds of her gown as she moved, the fabric brushing her hips and thighs. When she turned back his eyes lifted first to her bust, then to her face.
“So you do mourn him then?” he pressed, not moving, letting her run if that was what she wished. Taming her would be like training a mare to the saddle, a step forward and then withdraw. Giving her time to grow accustomed to each stage.
She sought refuge behind a sofa across the room, her fingers gripping its back. “In a fashion. But it is none of your business.”
“No?” He did step forward now.
“No, Robert.” She held her ground.
“Then explain exactly why you came home with me the other night, and why you then changed your mind?”
She sighed as if irritated by his question.
He continued walking forward.
She did not move, although her eyes followed him with a steady look.
“I did not change my mind. I had not intended to … ” She stopped, blushed and glanced upwards, as though the ceiling, or God, could give her the words. Clearly, something had as she refocused her gaze on him, the hardened Duchess again, daring him to challenge her and argue. “All I wished to do was talk. I did not mean to hurt you then or now, but I do not want
to commence a flirtation with you. The other night was a mistake.”
“So you told me yesterday.” His voice was a mocking growl. He was annoyed despite himself. “But I think you are unhappy, and I do not believe you are grieving. So why are you miserable?”
She blushed harder and leaned to pick up a copy of La Belle Assemblée from a low table, before dropping into a seat on the sofa. He knew she was trying to appear casual. She did not succeed.
“I am happy.”
She was not, her intonation was thoroughly unconvincing and her movement taut.
Occupying a chair opposite her, he answered, “Liar,” letting a lilting smile catch his lips to ruffle her feathers.
A blush painted her ivory cheeks, and her gaze popped up again, the purest emerald cloaked by long, dark lashes. “I am in no mood for your games, my Lord.”
“Robert,” he snapped, leaning forward in the chair, resting one elbow on his knee. “Do not try to hide behind formality, no matter your feelings. And I am not the one playing games. I took you to my house because you asked to go, and then you changed your mind and I brought you home. I offered you your winnings. You refused to accept them. You asked me to leave you alone at the bookshop, and I obeyed, but you called me back. It is not I playing games, is it, Jane?”
She was silent as she held his gaze, then she coloured up again and concluded. “I am in a difficult position, Robert. Please, do not make it harder?”
“She’s vulnerable.” Robert stood with a sudden need to understand her predicament and crossed the room to occupy the seat beside her on the sofa. Then he gripped one of her hands. “Confide in me, Jane. Something is wrong. I am convinced of it today. A problem shared is a problem halved, as I recall. What harm is there in telling me? What is going on?”
Her eyes met his, saline making them gleam in the bright sunlight streaming through the window, defining the emerald green like the jewel itself.
He was not, in general, a man of much depth. He did not seek to know people well, and he certainly did not wish to take on other people’s problems. But this was not just any other person. This was Jane. As he waited, earnestly willing her to speak, a sharp pain settled in his gut, the age-old need and longing he felt for this woman. He was like a starving man in her presence. Bloody desperate was what he was.
Her fingers pulled from his grip.
Even holding her hand made him lust after her; his groin was heavy. He thought she was tempted to tell for a moment, but then her eyes clouded and her gaze dropped.
Jane felt the intensity in Robert’s deep brown eyes silently urge her to speak, and daylight caught the lighter shades, turning them gold as she watched him. She couldn’t speak though; it was not fair to drag him into this, she’d hurt him enough once.
Her eyes dropped back to the magazine. “Nothing is wrong, my Lord.”
His knee touched hers, and she felt his muscle stiffen. Then he rose sharply and paced across the room. “Liar,” he said again when he stopped and turned back. His tone was sharp and condescending.
He was angry with her, and she could hardly blame him. She’d told him to leave her alone then called him back and imposed upon him to convey her to Violet’s.
And, of course, he had no idea she’d only done it to avoid Joshua. She’d told herself she’d invited Robert inside out of common courtesy, but she knew she had invited him in because, despite the fact this man was not her tender-hearted Robert, she still felt safer with him. She simply did not want to let him go yet. She just needed time to feel confident again.
He was watching her.
She looked up, her gaze skimming over his sculpted, tailored, slim, athletic figure. He was so infuriatingly handsome, despite oozing anger and arrogance. The magnetic pull exuding from him dragged her awareness towards him as his brown eyes challenged her, seeking every detail of her thoughts.
“If,” he began, his pronunciation expressing bluntly that he still thought her words a lie, “you think to dangle me, Jane, you are playing with fire, not a fish.”
He stepped closer, and sensing that he intended to lean over her, Jane thrust the magazine aside and stood, too.
It brought her up face-to-face with him, and he towered over her, merely a foot away. Her eyes fixed on his mocking smile, and a lead weight dropped from her stomach to the aching point between her legs.
She said nothing, and his fingers came up and lifted her chin, bringing her gaze to his.
“You are such a liar, Jane.”
His tone was no longer angry, but it held a cynical humour, and the pupils in his eyes had widened, large, onyx circles darkening his gaze with long, dark lashes defining it.
A warm ache settled somewhere in her chest then spiralled to her womb like a rolling penny when his lips lowered to hers, catching at them gently, a soft caress.
She echoed it without thought. Her eyes closed as he continued to kiss her, and she opened her mouth when his tongue touched her lips. Her very bones melting, her arms reached about his neck, and her body pressed against him, and then he stopped and pulled away.
Her eyelids lifted. She faced a knowing smile and felt the chill of his desertion.
“As I thought, a lie, Your Grace, all of it. You do want me. Like it or not, Jane. Admit it or not. You want me. You are found out, my dear.” His eyes narrowed as he continued. “But why not admit it? I cannot make you out. And there I presume is the dilemma which has you so distracted and upset. Whatever it is that prevents you admitting it, I mean.”
His hand rose suddenly and tapped her under the chin, before dropping again. “Such a tease, Jane. You don’t know me very well, do you? These games do nothing but inspire me to persist.”
A knock struck the door she’d left ajar. “Tea, Ma’am.” The maid’s voice reached into the room.
“Come in.” Jane felt a blush rise again, realising the maid must have heard at least part of their conversation.
Jane turned her back on Robert to hide her embarrassment, then crossed the room and looked out the window.
She waited there, listening as the maid laid out the tea tray.
“Thank you,” Jane said, when she heard the maid withdraw, looking down towards the square and the park below.
Joshua was there, sitting in his curricle.
He’d positioned it in the far corner of the square and sat with one arm stretched along the back of the double seat while he smoked a thin cigar, looking up at the house. A gloating smirk lodged on his face as he spotted her.
She stepped back and turned away only to find her path blocked by her other pursuer, the Earl of Barrington.
Her fingers lifted and rested on the front of his coat, steadying herself and holding him back as she met his gaze. A flint seemed to spark between them then and caught to a flame. She could see it in his eyes and feel it in her blood.
She did want him physically. She always had. Robert Marlow was a heart-wrenchingly beautiful man. But the problem was, he knew it, and he knew exactly what he did to her, too. She had to stand firm, despite her memories and the feelings which still burned inside her from the old days. He was not her haven against the world. Right now, he was nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing, as dangerous as Joshua in his way. But, God forgive her, he made her want to be devoured, no matter how much she knew it could only bring her pain, and clearly he wanted to devour her, because, regardless of the anger still bristling in his eyes, and his right to be aggrieved, his head bent and his hands slid about her waist.
The embrace was fierce and impassioned. She was breathless in moments, and her heart thumped hard as her fingers clung in his hair, hanging on against the flood.
His hands slid down over the contours of her body, moulded to the shape of her buttocks, then pressed her to him. A lustful groan slipped from his mouth into hers as she felt his arousal.
“Huh-hum.”
Robert let her go instantly, and Jane felt her face turn crimson as she looked across the room and met Violet’s reproachful ga
ze.
She stood in the doorway, her hand still gripping the door handle.
Of course, they had not shut the door.
Jane glanced guiltily at Robert, only to see him expressing no remorse at all.
Instead, he wore a wolfish grin, looking full of scornful satisfaction as his fingers lifted and swept back the lock of hair she’d dislodged.
Ignoring their reaction, Violet walked into the room and crossed to the tea tray. “Shall I pour?” Her tone bore as much humour as annoyance.
Feeling ashamed, Jane accepted with a nod.
“Selford said you had a visitor. I presumed you would need some company.” There was censure in Violet’s voice.
Jane smiled an apology and moved to collect her tea. Then she returned to the sofa and sat.
“My Lord?” Her friend sent Robert a quelling gaze.
Jane assumed he would instantly withdraw with some excuse to leave, but Robert was not so easily daunted.
He nodded and walked forward to collect his cup then sat beside Jane.
It seemed a deliberate move. She was very aware of his muscular thigh pressing against hers. She felt a blush again.
“To what end do we owe the honour of your visit, Barrington?” Violet said, taking the chair opposite.
“His Lordship kindly gave me a lift home,” Jane interceded before Robert could respond.
Despite the charming smile on her face, Violet glared at Robert. “Your kindness was well rewarded, I saw.”
Jane coughed, choking on the tea. She set it down. When she looked up, it was to see Robert smirking again. He looked like he was almost laughing.
“Actually, I was on my way to call upon the Dowager Duchess. It was merely the hand of fortune that brought us together sooner.” He drained his cup and set it down before reaching into the breast pocket of his morning coat. He withdrew several folded notes and held them out towards her.
She stared at them. “Your winnings, Your Grace,” he prompted.
“My Lord, I—”
His expression darkened at her denial, and he interrupted. “If you do not want it then give it to a charitable institution. I said I would lay the bet for you, and I did.” He tossed the money on to her lap and rose.
